


rub a dub dub three men in a tub

by hermette



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Other, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermette/pseuds/hermette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something Arthur wants, only he has no way to ask for it. Thank God for Gwaine. (MELANIE THIS IS THE ONE WITH THE PEEING.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	rub a dub dub three men in a tub

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marguerite_26](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=marguerite_26).



> For Maggie's birthday, with all my porny love. <3 Thanks to beachlass for the super quick read through. Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> In addition to watersports, this fic contains some internalized shame, a m/m/m threesome as well as non-explicit mentions of bondage.

Gwaine doesn’t even have the decency to look abashed when Arthur flips open the cardboard box.

“Uh,” Arthur says, looking down at the bar, and then up at Gwaine. Gwaine glances around the room and then nods his head at the bed.

“Just slide the whole box under there,” he says.

Arthur feels his eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Gwaine is already halfway in the cupboard, shoving his jumpers onto the shelf. “Will it not fit? I guess, the cupboard in the bathroom?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I cannot possibly express how very much you’re not keeping your sex toys in our bathroom.”

“Under the bed, then,” Gwaine says. Arthur gives the bar once last glance, folds the flaps down on the box, and shoves the whole damn thing under Gwaine’s bed

Later, once they’ve unpacked enough to find sheets and their mobile chargers, they order a pizza and then eat it, sitting on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. Arthur glances around and makes a mental list of things he needs to shop for, starting with a table and chairs.

“So,” he says, once Gwaine finished his half, and is sprawled along the cool tile, the top button of his jeans undone. “You want to tell me why the hell you have a spreader bar?”

Gwaine lifts his head and cracks an eye. “You want to tell me why you know what a spreader bar is?”

Arthur feels his cheeks go red. He throws his crust at Gwaine, who catches it and folds it in half, shoves the whole thing into his mouth.

“You’ve got to try everything once,” he says, voice muffled. He shrugs and flops back.

“I think owning a spreader bar means you’ve tried it more than once.”

Gwaine grins. “Some things you’ve got to try more than once.”

Before he can stop himself, Arthur wonders who exactly Gwaine is hooking up and why, exactly, someone would think it’s a good idea to let Gwaine tie them down and spread them open. His dick stirs a little in his boxers, and he shakes his head and stands up.

“You sleeping here?”

“Ngh.” Gwaine rubs his stomach. “No. You’re going to have to roll me to bed.”

“Sure,” Arthur replies, nudging Gwaine with his toes. “Right away.”

Gwaine exhales a laugh and grabs Arthur’s foot. His fingers are greasy from the pizza, and they leave smears on Arthur’s ankle. He finds them later, as he’s slipping under his blankets.

It’s quiet in the flat, quieter than Arthur is accustomed to, but it’s not bad. He figures he’ll get used to it eventually.

Arthur sighs and shifts his legs along the sheets, listening for the sounds of Gwaine moving about. When he’s convinced there are none, and that Gwaine is actually either asleep or passed out, he squeezes his eyes shut and slips his hand beneath the waistband of his underwear.

:::

Living with Gwaine is more or less exactly as Arthur imagined it would be. He leaves crusty dishes in the sink and wet towels on the bathroom floor and has a completely inexplicable aversion to throwing things away. Arthur is forever finding a bag with two crisps left in it, or a takeaway carton with a quarter of an inch of old noodles in the bottom.

(“It’s for you,” Gwaine had said, when Arthur called him on it. “I don't want to eat the last of it, in case you wanted some.”

“I don’t want two spoonfuls of yogurt, Gwaine,” Arthur had replied, tossing the container in the bin. )

But he also always remembers Arthur’s favorite kind of beer, and records stuff off the telly for him, just because he thinks Arthur might like it. He leaves notes everywhere -- some for Arthur and some not -- but either way they’re amusing, and Arthur is starting to think that moving in with Gwaine was a pretty smart decision.

That is, until he walks into the kitchen one Sunday morning and finds Merlin sitting at the kitchen table with his face in a cup of tea. He’s topless and wearing a pair of pajama bottoms that don’t quite cover his ankles. His hair is flat on one side, sticking up on the other, and Arthur has had enough drunken hookups with Merlin to know exactly what his post-sex hair looks like.

“Um,” he says, pausing in the doorway. Merlin looks up and smiles.

“Morning,” he says. He puts his coffee down and waves his spoon at Arthur. “I’m eating your oatmeal, because Gwaine had about seven cornflakes left.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says. He edges into the room and heads for the kettle. He hasn’t had enough caffeine to deal with this. “Okay.”

“That all right?”

“Fine,” Arthur says. He takes a cup out of the cupboard. It isn’t like he didn’t assume Merlin and Gwaine were hooking up -- he’s not blind or stupid, no matter how matter what Gwaine says, but thinking something isn’t the same thing as walking in on it sitting at your kitchen table with a love bite on its neck. Unbidden, Arthur thinks of Gwaine’s spreader bar, thinks of the dark leather cuffs against the pale stretch of Merlin’s skin. He hears Gwaine’s voice saying, _you have to try everything once_.

He has to squeeze his eyes shut and steady himself against the counter.

“Morning,” Gwaine says, wandering in, scratching his belly. He ruffles Arthur’s hair and presses a smacking kiss to Merlin’s cheek. “Morning, princess.”

Arthur opens his mouth--to say what, he’s not sure--and then Gwaine reaches around him for a cup. The cuff of his shirt shifts and Arthur can see the beginning of a ring of purple bruises around his wrist. His eyes go wide and he snaps his head up to look at Gwaine, who is watching him look.

Gwaine quirks an eyebrow and Arthur tries to remember how to breathe.

:::

The really, really stupid thing is that it’s not even about the bar. Arthur has fucked around with bondage, same as anyone. It was...fine. Nothing spectacular, nothing he _needs_ to get off. It’s not like he has a stash of porn filled with cuffs and ropes.

It’s more...the idea of it. He wonders when Gwaine bought the bar, and if he bought it for himself, or for someone else. He wonders how you bring something like that up, how you learn how to distinguish between the people who’ll grin and tumble you onto the bed, and the people who’ll slap your face and call you a freak. He wonders how you know when it’s safe.

Sometimes he thinks about asking Merlin. Merlin is his best friend in the entire world, and there’s no way he’d judge Arthur for asking, especially now Arthur knows he likes to tie people down. He might laugh and take the piss a little, but even if he said no, he wouldn’t hold it against Arthur for asking. There’s something stopping him though, and he can’t figure out what it is. It feels like an itch under his skin.

So he watches. He invites Merlin to stay for lunch and promises to feed him something more filling that seven cornflakes and then he watches the way Merlin slides his hand along the small of Gwaine’s back when he passes, watches the way he catches Gwaine’s wrist between his finger and thumb and presses down.

:::

“You know you can ask me,” Gwaine says, much, much later that night. The flat is mostly dark, except for the blue flickering from the telly. The light is on in the kitchen and Arthur can hear Merlin shuffling about, looking for god knows what. Arthur’s stomach clenches. He has to stop himself from curling away from Gwaine.

“Ask you what?”

Gwaine shrugs. “Whatever it is you’re wanting, whatever it is you think you can’t ask for.”

Arthur forces a laugh. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

Arthur takes a shaky breath. This is it. He could say it right now, just put it out there, and get it over with. And Gwaine could laugh and shake his head, could push Arthur’s shoulder and tell him how fucking crazy he is.

Or.

Or he could say yes.

Arthur’s has to swallow down the feeling of panic trying to claw its way out of his throat. Gwaine could say yes, and he could take Arthur’s hand and pull him into the bathroom--

“You lot need more beer,” Merlin says, walking back into the room and flopping down on the couch beside Gwaine. Gwaine looks away from Arthur and puts his feet in Merlin’s lap, then squawks and jerks away when Merlin presses his beer bottle against his toes.

“Cold, you fucker.”

Merlin shrugs and lifts the bottle to his mouth. Arthur has to force himself to look away.

Gwaine presses the play button on the remote, and the movie starts up. Arthur doesn’t even know what they’re watching, doesn’t even care. He keeps his eyes on the screen and doesn’t look over at Gwaine, even though he can feels Gwaine’s eyes on him.

Sometimes, Arthur thinks, Gwaine plays the part of the fool too well. Sometimes, people think he actually is a fool, and they underestimate him which, Arthur has learned, is never, ever a wise move. He doesn’t know if he’s been too transparent, or if Gwaine is just too perceptive for his own good, but he resolves to do a better job of keeping himself in check from here on out.

Until, of course, Merlin stands up, pushing himself up with a hand planted on Arthur’s thigh.

“Where are you going?” he says quickly, nearly desperate not to be left alone with Gwaine.

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “To the toilet.”

The moment stretches out like a rubber band, taut between them. Arthur knows that he’s staring, that his mouth is half-open and that he’s being too obvious. He takes in another breath and tries to think of something to say, anything, but he can’t, there aren’t any words. Merlin glances over at Gwaine.

“Arthur?”

Arthur can’t look at Gwaine. He _can’t_. If he looks over, Gwaine will know, he’ll see--

“Is that all right with you, Arthur?” Gwaine asks, and Arthur wants to _die_. He can hear it in Gwaine’s voice.

He knows.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “Of course. Yeah. I’m just.” He waves a hand vaguely, heart racing. He is so supremely fucked. “Pretty knackered. I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Merlin frowns and then shrugs, tells Arthur, “Good night, then,” and moves down the hallway. Arthur is off the couch before the door even shuts behind Merlin, but it doesn’t matter, because Gwaine is on him before he even gets around the couch. He grabs Arthur’s wrist and forces him back onto it.

And Arthur, for whatever it’s worth, isn’t a coward. He forces himself to look at Gwaine... Gwaine, who is pressing Arthur down into the couch with his mouth gone slack, his eyes heavy-lidded. He’s breathing through his mouth and squeezing Arthur’s wrist so tightly that Arthur’s entire arm hurts.

“Gwaine,” he breathes, and Gwaine kisses him.

It’s not their first kiss. It’s not even their second of their third, but it’s the first one that has Arthur hard so quickly that he’s nearly dizzy with it. He sags against the couch and lets his thighs fall open.

“Is that what you want?” Gwaine saks, breathing the words into Arthur’s mouth. “You want someone to--”

Arthur moans and bites at Gwaine’s mouth. “Shut up,” he murmurs. “Shut up, shut up.”

“I’ll do it,” Gwaine says. “You’ve just got to tell me how you want it, you’ve got to--” He’s let go of Arthur’s wrist to get his hands on Arthur’s hips and he’s already rocking down against him, and Arthur doesn’t know what to do except dig his fingernails into Gwain’s shoulders and try to shut him up with his mouth. He doesn’t even realize how loud they’re being until Merlin walks back into the room with his hand over his eyes.

“If someone could just toss me my jacket,” he says, grinning. If it’s possible, Arthur’s dick gets even harder, and Gwaine grins against him, refusing to be dislodged, no matter how hard Arthur pushes at his shoulders.

“We weren’t--” Arthur tries, but they _were_ , and Arthur doesn’t really know the rules for this. He gives Gwaine a pleading look, but Gwaine is a bastard.

“You don’t have to go,” he says, not looking at Merlin, but at Arthur. His hips are working against Arthur’s in a slow, steady roll, and Arthur can’t stop himself making horrible, embarrassing whimpering noises. He puts an arm over his eyes and tries to stop his heart from beating right out of his chest.

“I, uh.” Merlin clears his throat. “Are you two--”

“I think Arthur needs the toilet,” Gwaine says, and seriously, seriously, Arthur has got to get better friends. “Don’t you Arthur?”

As stupid as it is, Arthur knows this is a defining moment for him. He can shake his head and tell them, no, no, and Gwaine will let it drop and never bring it up again. Or, he can say yes, and take the chance on getting something he’d resigned himself to never have.

Arthur lifts his arm and glances over at Merlin, who looks confused, but curious. He glances at Gwaine, who, for once, doesn’t have any of his walls up. He’s staring back at Arthur with half a smile curling his mouth up, waiting.

In the end, there really isn’t a decision to be made. Arthur swallows down his fear and nods.

:::

“How do you want to do this?” Gwaine asks, once the three of them have stuffed themselves into the bathroom. He’s crowding Arthur back against the wall, working on his belt buckle. “Do you want us to watch you, or do you want to get in the shower and we can--”

Arthur moans, head tipping back against the wall. He feels useless under Gwaine’s hands and Merlin’s heavy gaze, but he just doesn’t know. He wants to feel everything, all at once. He shakes his head. “I don’t...”

In the end, Merlin is the one who makes it happen. He steps further into the room and pulls Arthur out of Gwaine’s arms and into his. His hands go to Arthur’s zipper. Arthur trembles. He wishes he’d had something to drink. He could do with a little liquid courage right about now.

“Shh,” Merlin murmurs into his mouth. “Arthur, it’s all right.”

Arthur chokes out a laugh. He’s completely overwhelmed and not quite able to distinguish any of the things he’s feeling, but he’s pretty sure ‘all right’ isn’t among them.

“C’mon,” Merlin says. He’s got Arthur’s jeans undone, and he’s pushing them down, over Arthur’s hips, down to his thighs. “Arthur.” He puts his hands on Arthur’s hips and walks him backward. He bumps into Gwaine, who covers Merlin’s hands with his own and turns Arthur toward the tub. Arthur’s face flames. He drops his head back against Merlin’s shoulder.

“Merlin” he whispers, as Merlin’s finger’s curl around Arthur’s dick. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or scream or turn and run out of the room, out of the apartment, just keep going until he can pass out somewhere where no one knows him and he doesn’t ever, ever have to think about this again. Only, below the panic is a thread of want so desperate that Arthur feels his dick twitch a little under Merlin’s fingers. Merlin hums softly and rubs his fingers under the head of Arthur’s dick.

Arthur whimpers, honest to god whimpers. “I _can’t_.”

“You can,” Gwaine says. His palm skids hotly over Arthur’s stomach. Arthur’s toes bump into the tub. He can’t seem to open his eyes.

“Go on,” Merlin says. He fists Arthur’s dick a little and then gives his shirt a tug.

Arthur strips slowly and methodically, never opening his eyes. He pulls of his shirt and drops it to the floor, pushes his jeans down and pulls them off one leg, then the other. He wants to cover himself and is already moving his hands when he hears Merlin suck in a deep, unsteady breath against the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, Arthur.” He sounds absolutely wrecked, his breath hot and wet on Arthur’s neck. His hands are clenching and unclenching on Arthur’s hips, and he sounds just as shattered as Arthur feels.

And just like that, Arthur gives up. He turns and presses his mouth to Merlin’s and just gives up.

Beside him, he can hear Gwaine shucking off his clothes, hopping one one foot to tug his socks off. Arthur grins into Merlin’s mouth. They’re going to do this--he’s really going to do this.

“How do you want it?” Merlin murmurs, and Arthur pulls back. He glances up at Merlin, who looks just as desperate as he is. Gwaine is already cupping his dick, palming his balls, and for a moment, Arthur considers chunking the whole plan out the window and just getting down on his fucking knees.

“I--oh my back,” he says. He jerks his head at the tub. Merlin’s hands have to be leaving bruises.

“Yeah,” Gwaine says. “Fuck yeah.”

Somehow they manuever into the tub, Arthur on his back and Gwaine kneeling between his thighs. Arthur’s dick is thick and flushed, smearing a sticky trail over his stomach. He can’t think of what to do, so he reaches for Gwaine’s cock.

“Not..not yet,” Gwaine says. “Don’t get me hard, I won’t be able to...” He shakes his head, hair flopping over his forehead and Arthur...god, the tub is cold and hard and unforgiving under him, and it has to be killing Gwaine’s knees, and Merlin is sat back on his heels gripping Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur wants to live in this moment forever. He feels incredible.

“Please,” he says, and Gwaine kisses him.

It’s not much, as far as kisses go. They’re both shaking, and Gwaine is a lazy kisser at the best of times, but then Arthur feels something hot and wet splash across his belly, and he jerks like he’s been electrocuted. His mouth falls open Gwaine is... _fuck_.

“Oh, fuck,” Gwaine moans, and another stream hits Arthur’s belly and runs down, trickling over his hips and his dick. He feels like his brain is on fire.

“Are you--oh, fuck.” Merlin’s fingernails dig into Arthur’s shoulder and it just all too fucking much. Arthur throws his head back against the cold tile of the shower wall and pushes his hips up. Everything between his body and Gwaine’s is so wet and there’s not friction at all, but it doesn’t matter. This is finally happening, and Arthur should be appalled at himself--Gwaine is _peeing_ on him, for fuck’s sake--but he doesn’t even care. It feels too good.

“God, god,” Gwaine is chanting, thrusting against the hollow of Arthur’s hip. Arthur snakes a hand between their bodies. Gwaine groans and lifts up to watch and it’s just...fuck, it’s the most absurd, incredible thing that’s ever happened to him, and when Arthur starts to come he curls up so that he can reach Gwaine’s mouth, so that he can try to press his blinding gratitude into his lips.

:::

The end up in Arthur’s bed, by virtue of it being biggest. It’s a tight squeeze, all elbows and knees and, “Gwaine, your fucking hair, I swear to god,” but no tighter than the three of them jostling for space in the shower. Merlin’s got his hand splayed across Arthur’s stomach and Gwaine arse is pushed back into the cradle of Arthur’s hips.

“Do you think,” Gwaine mumbles as Merlin pulls the blankets up over his shoulders, “that now is a good time to talk about nipple clamps?”

Merlin’s laughter ruffles Arthur’s hair. Arthur grins and pushes back into the touch.


End file.
